


Jezebel in Hell

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, Codependency, F/M, Het, Prophetic Visions, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia likes to drink more than she seems to think. An Angel/Cordelia of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jezebel in Hell

Being a hero requires sacrifice. Being a hero requires odd compromises.

Still, there should be lines, there should be limits, there should be boundaries.

She shouldn’t be craving the taste of his blood.

Angel’s arm is neither warm nor cold where Cordelia is touching it. It’s neutral. Temperature-free. She runs her fingers up and down the inside of his arm, feeling for the scars that should be there and aren’t. No marks, no proof of the regular violence done to the arm.

Done by her. She marks that arm once a week. Sometimes twice.

“Is it getting easier?” Angel asks, a million miles away from his arm and his blood. She jumps, feeling guilty, and shakes her head.

Cordelia wants to bite through Angel’s skin, to puncture the skin with her teeth, and taste the blood underneath the surface. She wants it so much that it makes her sick.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

It wasn’t how it was at first. At first, she would cry, refusing to look at Angel as Wesley bundled her out of the hotel and into her apartment, apologizing over and over for not finding a better way to save her from her visions.

They’d drink wine that Wes bought as a guilt offering, trying to get the nasty taste out of their mouths, and Cordelia would feel better until the next time the pain got to be too much and she needed a little more demon to survive.

“Ready?” Angel asks, reminding Cordelia that now is next time, that it’s here and now and she needs to drink to live with her visions. Funny how everything’s reversed, like someone with a sick sense of humor changed the way it’s supposed to be.

“I’m never ready,” Cordelia lies, trying to control herself.

It’s getting worse. This thing in her that’s changed from nausea to fascination to need is starting to stay with her, find its way back into all of her thoughts and wants and dreams.

Cordelia closes her eyes, trying to make herself hate what she’s going to do next.

“Vampires don’t usually do this,” Angel explained the first night they did it. “There’s no point, really. The bond that’s formed is deep. It’s intense–but sooner or later, the vampire gets bored and either kills or turns the human.”

She can’t imagine ever getting bored of this. The sensation is unlike anything else and she thinks that maybe it’s better than sex–or maybe that’s just the obsession catching up to her.

It’s all guilt and pleasure dancing through her head and she grabs his forearm and pulls it to her mouth. She can smell the blood just under the skin and she opens her mouth, catching his skin between her teeth and tugging just a little. Playing, maybe.

“Cordy–”

Blood has a bad aftertaste but it’s really good going down.

She bites down hard and Angel makes a gasping sound. He can’t gasp because he doesn’t breathe. It’s a happy gasp. It sounds like a sex gasp and she’s kinda into that, the way she makes him feel as she

as she

she (oh God, she has to admit it)

she feeds off him.

She is feeding off him. Right now. His blood is pouring into her mouth and she’s drinking it and she likes it.

This is Cordelia’s secret. She likes it. She’s addicted to the bond between them, the way she can almost hear his thoughts as she swallows his blood.

cordysisterbestfriendloverdaughtersweetthing

heavenly white roses seem to whisper to me when you smile

cordycordycordy

i’m so sorry that you have to

Sometimes it’s almost too much for both of them. There’s always the danger that he could lose control and take back the blood she’s taken from him.

The danger Angel never sees is the chance that Cordelia might be the one who loses control, the one who pulls him against her, begging him to take her, to taste her, to make love to her until they’re both covered in blood.

Angel believes in her. He thinks that this is a sacrifice for Cordy, that she’s sickened every time she’s forced to drink. She wonders if he’ll ever realize that they’re barely hanging on, that one wrong word at the wrong time and it’ll be over, this myth of heroic necessity, this relative peace.

The baby starts to howl, breaking the spell, and Cordelia realizes she’s had more than enough anyway and that she’s feeling sort of sick to her stomach and dizzy. Too much blood.

Cordelia pulls away and looks at him with a mouth that’s covered in blood. She knows he wants to lick it off. She wants to let him but they can’t. Everything would be ruined.

“He’s hungry,” she says, not daring to touch the blood while he’s staring at it. “You should feed him, Daddy-O.”

Angel won’t move. Cordelia is suddenly afraid that it really has been too much, that they’re doomed already. Something in her wants that so much that it takes all of her self-control not to lick her lips and offer him a taste.

But she can’t.

He stares at her, his eyes completely unreadable and Cordy fights herself every second of the way as the baby keeps screaming.

One little taste couldn’t hurt–especially after all he’s done. They would stop before it went any further. She’s only offering his blood back to him. It wouldn’t be any worse than anything they’ve already done.

Cordelia suddenly wants him so much that she doesn’t know what to do. The world be damned, they deserve a little happiness from each other even if that happiness is going to destroy them and the world along with them.

She’s about to break when Angel finally blinks. He stands up and leaves the room without saying a word and suddenly Cordelia can breathe again. Almost before she can think, she’s licking the blood off her own lips, glad for the last little tastes, angry at herself.

There need to be boundaries and rules. She can’t keep sucking on Angel’s arm like this, a dazed almost-addict never sure when to stop. He could serve the required amount of blood in a wineglass and she could pretend it was really bad merlot.

Really, really bad merlot.

The idea of Angel’s blood in a wineglass makes Cordelia shake. She’s addicted to the whole ritual, even the fear that this time will be the time, the moment where they break into little pieces.

She should be better than this. After all, this is about surviving the visions and helping others, not about feeling Angel tremble under her as she feeds off him. It’s not about that at all, or it shouldn’t be.

But it is. And Cordelia can’t change that.

So instead of worrying about it any further, she stands up and goes back to work, wondering about what happens next.

 


End file.
